


Pure Indulgence

by Euterpein



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), F/F, Hedonism, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:33:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Euterpein/pseuds/Euterpein
Summary: It's been one year since Crowley and Aziraphale moved away from the hustle and bustle of London to spend their post-apocalypse retirement in a little cottage together. Aziraphale's disappointed when it seems that Crowley's forgotten, but tries not to make a big deal out of it.Until Crowley surprises her...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44
Collections: Ineffable Wives Exchange 2020





	Pure Indulgence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KannaOphelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KannaOphelia/gifts).



> This fic was written for the Ineffable Wives 2020 Exchange! My assigned giftee was KannaOphelia. I hope you like it!

Aziraphale tried to keep her disappointment from showing. She really did. 

She had been hoping that when Crowley came home from whatever she’d been doing all day that they could celebrate their anniversary together. Open a bottle of champagne, spend some time in the garden, something like that. She had at least wanted to tell her about her newest and most exciting acquisition. But Crowley had been tired, had gone upstairs right away to have a nap, and that had been just fine.

Crowley had come down from her nap looking positively smug. Probably something to do with that _Tweeter_ nonsense she seemed to have so much fun causing all sorts of chaos on. She had simply given Aziraphale a quick peck on the cheek and inquired about what they were going to order for supper that evening, still smirking to herself. 

Aziraphale had been expecting...well. She wasn’t sure exactly what she had been expecting. Crowley had always had rather a propensity for gift-giving, and Aziraphale had thought that would extent especially to a special day like this one. She had been downright _doting_ the year after the apocalypse had failed to occur. Even throughout the centuries and millennia, now that Aziraphale thought on it, Crowley had always seemed to mark out the time they’d spent together with a gesture, muted as they’d had to be then. 

Not this time, it seemed. 

She knew that it was quite unfair to be disappointed or to make Crowley feel guilty for not wanting to celebrate the day. Perhaps she’d even forgotten, or not realized that it was the one year anniversary of them moving into the cottage together. After all, Aziraphale herself hadn’t mentioned it, and she couldn’t blame Crowley for not reading her mind. Still, she had hoped...

She had hoped it could be _special_.

Aziraphale fought a sigh as she laid down her fork, masking it as the sigh of a pleasant meal meeting its inevitable end. Crowley herself had taken only her customary few bites. She had filled her glass of wine and leaned back in her seat, preferring to watch Aziraphale make her way through her curry in a way that Aziraphale had grown more than accustomed to in the six-thousand-plus years of their acquaintance. 

“Everything alright, angel?” Crowley asked, swirling her wine around absently in her glass, “You’ve been quiet tonight.”

“Have I?” Aziraphale dabbed at her mouth, a mite guiltily. “Everything’s quite alright, my dear, thank you. They’ve quite outdone themselves down at New Mumbai tonight, don’t you think?”

Crowley looked sceptical, but seemed willing to let it slide. “Yeah, er--sure. It was good.” She blinked down at her still-full plate as though noticing it for the first time.

“One of these days I’ll get you to appreciate food as the art form it is, dear,” Aziraphale said, giving her a fond smile over the old familiar argument.

“And one of these days I’ll get _you_ to listen to music written in the last century,” Crowley returned, grinning back. She stretched like a cat, puffing out her chest and curving her spine in a way that made Aziraphale’s eyes wander a bit towards the hem of her too-short t-shirt before she settled back into her chair with a roll of her neck. “Mmm. Listen, angel, I don’t suppose I could trouble you for a massage? I think I did my neck in while I was in the garden yesterday.”

Aziraphale tutted. “What have I told you about hauling all that compost around, dear? It’s not good on all the extra vertebrae.”

Crowley rolled her golden eyes, exasperated but fond. “I know, angel, I know. Now will you, or shall I go ask someone else to do it?”

“Of course I will.” Aziraphale sniffed at the implication that she might not want to get her hands on Crowley. “Here, or up in the bedroom?”

Crowley thought about it for a few moments, then said, “Bed, I think.”

“Alright.” Aziraphale clicked her fingers and caused the washing up to happen on its own; the leftovers appeared packaged nicely in the refrigerator, the dishes clean and dry in the cabinets. 

She followed Crowley up the stairway towards the master suite, their footsteps quiet in the carpeted hall. Her mind went back to the evening she had half-envisioned for their anniversary; champagne, gifts, time spent together. Giving her demon a massage wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind, but she supposed it would do about as well. It was certainly romantic, anyway.

Crowley disappeared through the open doorway at the end of the hall without turning on the light, which made Aziraphale frown. 

“Crowley?” she called as she approached the door and the gloom within, but received no response. There were a few moments where she hesitated at the entrance, confused, before more than a dozen candles burst into life around the room. 

The sight that greeted her when her eyes had adjusted to the glow took her breath away.

Their entire bedroom had been transformed. Little tables had been summoned into existence throughout, each and every one of them laden with one of Aziraphale’s absolute favourite things. She recognized chocolates from Brussels, fresh croissants straight from her favourite little patisserie in Paris, oysters served with lemon and set with pearls just for the show of it. It didn’t stop at food, though there was plenty of that. There were delicate shoes in a style Aziraphale hadn’t seen in more than two hundred years. There were reams of linen, of silk, beautifully dyed and embroidered with gold wings and emerald serpents. On one table there was a small stack of ancient-looking books that Aziraphale itched to get her hands on.

And in the middle of it all, there was Crowley.

She was smiling from ear to ear, every bit the cat that had got the cream. She plucked a rose from one of the many bouquets spread throughout the room, and sauntered casually over to where Aziraphale was still standing, frozen.

“Happy anniversary, angel,” she said, her voice low and quiet.

Aziraphale looked down at the rose in Crowley’s outstretched hand. It was white, with wide, delicate petals that stretched out sublimely from the centre with perfect grace. Its aromatic scent complimented the notes of perfume and flame that permeated the small space. She realized that it had likely come from the vines in Crowley’s garden; grown right there and plucked at its peak, just for her. 

“Is this what you were up to all day, then?” Aziraphale managed, throat working through a sudden swell of emotion, finally drumming up the wherewithal to reach out and take the thornless rose from Crowley’s offering hand. “I thought you’d been up to your usual nefarious plans.”

Crowley grinned, open and uninhibited, and it made Aziraphale’s breath catch in her throat. “Yup,” she said, popping the “p” the way she knew drove Aziraphale crazy. “It was quite the effort, getting some of this stuff in. All sorts of back-end deals and the like. Positively evil.”

“Downright spooky, I’m sure.” Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed her lips gently to Crowley’s, chasing the sweetness of that thousand-watt smile. 

Crowley sighed quietly and swayed towards her, bringing the warmth of their bodies together in the flickering firelight. Aziraphale looped her arms around Crowley’s shoulders and deepened the kiss, pressing her tongue to the seal of Crowley’s lips until they parted sweetly for her, unhurried and utterly content. 

“Nnnyou’ve got--the thing,” Crowley tried after a few treacle-thick minutes, pulling away from Aziraphale with some effort. 

“What thing, love?” Aziraphale slipped down to press a kiss to Crowley’s sharp jaw, the jut of her clavicle. 

Crowley sighed again as Aziraphale scraped her teeth up the soft column of her throat, but persisted: “All of ‘em. The champagne and the chocolates and the-- _oh_ \--the bloody oysters. You should have some. Got ‘em for you.”

Aziraphale gave her the tiniest little nip right at the back of Crowley’s jaw, under her ear, then pulled back. She glanced over the spread that Crowley had set out for her. “Did you have anything in particular in mind?”

Curiously, the flush that had been climbing its way steadily up Crowley’s cheeks climbed a little further at that. 

“Thought I could...well, I thought you might like to lay on the bed and let me...” she cut herself off, avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes in apparent embarrassment. 

“Dote on me?” Aziraphale finished for her, grinning. 

Crowley was still wrapped in her arms, unable to escape her look of adoration, and she squirmed. “...Yeah,” she whispered, eventually.

Aziraphale kissed her again, apparently taking her somewhat by surprise considering the little squeak she let out, then let her arms snake out from around Crowley’s shoulders. “I think,” she said, brushing a nonexistent eyelash from Crowley’s crimson cheek, “that sounds like a perfect evening, my darling.” 

“Nnnnnnnnnkay.” Despite the fact that they’d been together a few years now, and living together for one, Crowley never failed to get star-struck when they were like this. It was something that Aziraphale adored about her. She smiled again and turned her gaze over to the wide expanse of their bed, pillowy and plush and draped in a dark tartan. 

She considered it for a moment, then turned back to Crowley. “Help me with my clothes, love?”

“Your clothes?” Crowley still seemed a bit dazed. “Oh! Yeah, angel, of course.”

Aziraphale smiled up at her as Crowley’s fingers gently made their way up along her worn waistcoat, tracing the edges with a reverence that was just as evident in her expression as it was in her touch. Those long fingers slipped the first button through its hole with care, then another, working their way down the line. Their mingling breaths seemed loud in the dim hush of the room. Crowley stepped back to let Aziraphale place the white rose on a table to the side and slide the waistcoat from her own shoulders before diving back in. 

This time she attacked Aziraphale’s mouth as she attacked the buttons of her shirt. It slowed her work significantly, the press of their bodies making her flatten and scramble, but neither of them seemed to mind overmuch. A few breathless minutes passed before the shirt came off much as the waistcoat had, thrown off to the side without much care. Crowley groaned as she turned her attention to Aziraphale’s bra, ecstatic as always to get her hand on her angel’s soft skin. 

Aziraphale giggled as Crowley fumbled with the clasp at her back, then shivered at the ghosting of warm breath at her neck Crowley gave her in her moment of victory. A concerted effort on both their parts allowed Aziraphale to wriggle out of her modest skirt and knee-highs. Crowley huffed a bit at the plain white knickers she found underneath, but her amusement didn’t seem to tarnish her reverence as she fell to her knees before Aziraphale. Slowly, carefully, keeping her eyes locked with Aziraphale’s own, Crowley hooked her fingers through the waistband of her knickers and slid them slowly down over plush thighs.

Aziraphale stepped out of the pants once they’d fallen to her ankles. Crowley was still on her knees, gazing up, and was now running her warm palms over the bare skin of Aziraphale’s thighs and down the length of her legs in slow, gentle motions.

“I would worship you, you know,” she murmured, leaning forward to press a bare brush of a kiss to pale skin, “Just like this. On my knees, for you. Always for you, angel.”

Aziraphale felt her heart lurch. Of everything that had changed since the world hadn’t ended, this had been the strangest; this openness, this ability to speak their minds without fear. She had struggled with it more than Crowley had, which was perhaps unsurprising, but was slowly coming to terms with it over time. She doubted that this, though, would ever fail to take her breath away. This casual blasphemy, this reverent and all-consuming love. 

_God_ , Aziraphale would burn for her.

Feeling that she needed to reign in the situation a bit before they ended up rolling around on the floor, Aziraphale took a deep, steadying breath. She leaned down and laid a single, lingering kiss on her upturned forehead. “I know you would, my love,” she said, “But I believe I was promised a bit of doting?”

Crowley offered her an achingly soft smile and climbed to her feet with only a little bit of awkwardness in her long limbs. Aziraphale turned to walk the few steps to the bed, revelling a bit when Crowley made a sound a little like a tea kettle going off at the vision of her retreating backside. She climbed up onto the soft, dark blue of their bedspread and towards the mountain of pillows at the head, letting herself fall into it with a comfortable sigh.

Crowley was on her almost immediately. Aziraphale laughed as Crowley pressed herself to the softness of Aziraphale’s body, kissing every bit of skin she could reach and caressing every inch she couldn’t. She was about to remind Crowley of their plan again (though admittedly, she was losing the will to do so by the moment) when Crowley twirled a finger around in the air, not bothering to pull back from where she was sucking a bruise into she sensitive skin above Aziraphale’s breast. 

All around her, silver platters burst into life and floated towards them on the bed, gently jostling for position within Aziraphale’s reach. 

“Oh!” she said, surprised, taking a look around at them all. After a moment’s consideration she lifted a decadent-looking and intricately decorated chocolate out of a sleek black box. She brought it to her lips, giving a soft moan at the rich smell of it, already anticipating the way the morsel would melt on her tongue. 

Crowley seemed equally enraptured, but not by the chocolate. She had slowly kissed and bit her way down Aziraphale’s body, leaving no inch of skin unworshipped, using her clever tongue and sharp teeth just the way she knew Aziraphale loved. At Aziraphale’s moan, her eyes flicked back up from where she had just settled between the angel’s legs, her face scant inches from a treat of her own. 

Their eyes met in a perfect, crystalline moment, each of them poised and ready. Crowley’s eyes were hazy, drunk on love and on desire. They were almost pleading.

Smiling wickedly, Aziraphale bit down.

Their moans were twins of one another, each completely indistinguishable from the other’s. Crowley’s breath ghosted out across golden curls as the first burst of bittersweet chocolate spread over Aziraphale’s tongue and she lunged forward, burying herself between Aziraphale’s legs with the gusto of a parched human in a desert finally reaching an oasis.

She had told Aziraphale once that she would gladly drown herself in those perfect waters if it were ever asked of her. 

Aziraphale’s body lit up like she had been struck by lightning. The sweetness on her tongue and the pulsing, pressing heat in her folds made her vision swim in its intensity, the infinite, spinning universe in her mind fading around her as her attention narrowed down to the sweet pleasures of the flesh. 

Time seemed to slow to a gentle, warm crawl. Crowley seemed to be in no hurry whatsoever. She licked and nibbled delicately at Aziraphale for ages, drinking in every moan and sigh and soft whimper as though she could keep them in her mind forever. Only when Aziraphale was flushed and hot and practically _begging_ her for more did she finally bring her slender fingers up to aid in her work, opening Aziraphale up achingly slowly and grinning toothily when Aziraphale clenched around them at a particularly nice sensation.

Aziraphale, for her part, _indulged_. The tray of chocolate delights was waved away to be replaced by fresh raspberries. They were washed down with a delicate flute of champagne (the only thing she managed to coax Crowley away from her task to taste) and the most delicate little mille-foie. Cardamom buns with passion fruit curd, soft, creamy cheeses, wines and spirits and espresso as fresh as if it had just been brewed. The trays danced around her, filling her with delight and with all manner of indulgences, while Crowley made her breaths come quick and lightning dance through her veins.

It took ages for her to finally tip over the edge. She couldn’t have said why exactly; Crowley’s tongue and fingers were as clever as they had ever been, pressing her in all the right places, knowing just when to tease and when to dive right in. Perhaps it was the feeling of the moment. Everything felt syrupy somehow, caught in warm treacle and suspended in place, and every bit as sweet.

When she did finally come, her own sticky and chocolate-covered fingers found Crowley’s where they were still gripping the meat of her thigh, a plea and a warning. Crowley merely redoubled her efforts, speeding up the movement of her fingers, sucking gently on Aziraphale’s sensitive clit until she nearly screamed.

Aziraphale bucked up in a wordless cry, the feeling hitting her like a thunderclap and spreading over the whole of her body. She shook with it for a few protracted moments. It was almost too good, too _much_ , and a hoarse cry finally crawled its way out of her throat, but just before it got to be too terrifyingly overwhelming, it passed, and she fell back down to the bedspread feeling completely and wonderfully wrung out.

Her eyes were still unfocused as Crowley kissed her way up Aziraphale’s body, whispering sweet words into her skin and soothing the little wracking shivers that continued to catch at her as she came down. 

“Thank you, my dear,” she managed after a while, her throat still a bit raw. “That was--that was everything I could have imagined.”

Crowley propped herself up on one elbow and looked up at Aziraphale in a self-satisfied kind of way. “You know it’s no trouble for me, angel.” 

“Still, I...well. Can I...tell you something?”

“Course you can,” Crowley said, furrowing her brow. 

Aziraphale fiddled with the corner of a silk pillow, a little nervously. “It’s just that--you see, this morning I thought that maybe--”

“Thought that maybe I’d forgotten?” Crowley didn’t seem surprised. 

Aziraphale flushed a little, ashamed. 

“It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said, leveraging herself up to place a lingering kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. “I did that on purpose. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“I know,” Aziraphale admitted, still somewhat wretched, “but I should have believed in you more, should have known--”

“Angel.” Crowley held her face between her hands, holding her gaze with a firm look of her own. “It’s really alright. It’s good, actually.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Why is it good?”

“Because it means I get to spend the next slice of eternity proving to you that I’ll never, _ever_ forget,” she responded, simply.

Aziraphale’s mouth opened to say something to that, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she tugged Crowley towards her, shoving impatiently at the shirt that was still somehow tight against Crowley’s frame. “Would you like me to reciprocate, my dearest?” she asked, breathlessly, a hand wandering down towards where Crowley must be aching in her jeans by now. 

Crowley caught her hand. “I don’t think so, angel.” Her voice was low, sultry. Almost _predatory_. “I’m not done indulging you yet.”

She lifted her hand, eyes hungry and full of an endless, bottomless love, and clicked her fingers. 


End file.
